Lovers, Strangers, Friends
by Muggle Jane
Summary: A collection of unrelated oneshots. Different pairings and ratings, summaries at the top of each chapter.
1. Neville and Hannah

**A/N: I do not own any of the characters or canon situations in any of these stories.  
**

**Pairing: Hannah/Neville**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Seamus throws the best house parties, but sometimes they can get a little much for Hannah.**

**Don't Think**

It was, well, it was another one of Seamus Finnigan's parties. That meant three things- loud music, plenty of alcohol in whatever flavor you were looking for, and at least one person making choices they were probably going to regret in the morning with someone they'd gone to school with.

As Seamus' somewhat reluctant housemate, Hannah got a front-row seat to every single one of those events. She didn't mind, not really, even though she wasn't much of a drinker. She got to catch up with her friends and laugh at whatever the twins were getting up to and take bets with Ginny on whose knickers she was going to find on the porch roof in the morning. That had only happened twice. No, three times. Susan's once and Luna's twice.

Seamus caught her with an arm around her waist as she went by, wending her way through the throng of people. "All right, Hannah?" he asked, bending down to yell in her ear to be heard over the music.

She nodded and gave him a bright smile, and he squeezed his arm around her waist before he released her. He'd made a pass at her shortly after she'd moved in and she'd given it a go, but after snogging against the kitchen counter for five minutes, it just hadn't happened. She'd told him it felt like kissing her brother and neither of them were purebloods, and they'd shared a laugh over that and moved on happily as friends.

She moved on, walking through to where Luna's high, clear laugh pealed out like a bell. She was sitting on George's knee and he had his mouth to her ear, a grin on his face as he said something that made her bury her face in his shoulder, her body rocking with laughter. They were probably going to end up in the linen cupboard by the end of the night, that was almost as guaranteed as the omnipresent thumping music.

His twin was sitting on the sofa beside him, Parvati on his other side, and she looked well on her way to being taken in by the famous Weasley twin charm. George had settled down, judging by the almost embarrassingly large diamond on Luna's finger, but Fred was apparently still... looking.

"Parvati," she yelled to Ginny as she passed by the redhead, pointing back into the sitting room.

Ginny removed one arm from around Dean's neck to look in the indicated direction.

"Hermione," Ginny called back, pointing to where Hermione was currently attached at the lips to one Cormac McLaggen.

"Is this old flames night?" Hannah asked, almost unable to believe her eyes. "How much has she had to drink that she's wrapped up in McLaggen?"

Ginny shrugged and went back to dancing with Dean, if it could be called that.

Hannah shook her head and slipped out the back door, letting it shut behind her. She could still clearly hear the music, but it was quieter. Cooler, too, the press of bodies inside made it almost stiflingly hot. She sat down on the top step and stared out over the small back garden. The grass was short, brown and patchy at the end of the summer.

After just a short time, she heard the door open and close behind her, and then the creak of the wooden step as whoever it was sat down beside her. She was a little surprised to see a familiar blonde when she looked over to find out who it was. "Neville?"

Neville didn't turn up at too many of Seamus' parties. Not because they weren't on friendly terms, but the boisterous events weren't really his thing. Not that they were really Hannah's, but she lived there and she didn't mind too much.

"Hello, Hannah," he greeted her. "Could hardly hear myself think in there."

She nodded sympathetically. "Yeah. I need some air every so often whenever he does this."

"Bit inconsiderate, isn't it? I mean, you live here too, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't mind. Gives me a chance to catch up with old friends. And when it gets too much, I can just go to bed and get myself some silence."

He was holding a plastic tumbler of something, and he took a drink of it. "That's good, then." He fell silent.

She studied him for a moment. He'd slimmed down a lot in their seventh year and, since taking Auror training with Harry and Ron, he'd filled out quite a bit, she noticed appreciatively. "How are you enjoying it?" she asked. "Training, I mean."

"It's good. Gran's happy about it, and it's nice to do the same thing that my parents did, you know?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Sitting on my back step?" She offered him a grin.

He chuckled and shook his head before having another drink. "Right."

"What are you drinking, Nev?"

"Firewhiskey. Ron insisted I have some."

"Ron's here?" She glanced back at the closed door as though she could see through it. "I didn't see him."

"I left him in the kitchen. He and Terry were mixing up something in a big bowl. I didn't want any part of that."

She eyed the door dubiously, then shrugged. It was Seamus' party, he could clean up anything that needed cleaning up. "I don't blame you."

"Why are you living with Seamus, anyway?" he asked after another moment.

She shrugged. "I needed somewhere to live. Dean was going to live here, but then he got accepted to that Muggle art college and Seamus needed a housemate. We always got on in school, I thought I might as well."

"Are you two together?"

She laughed incredulously. "No. We tried it, it wasn't... No. Just friends. He's back with Lav, I think."

The door opened again and someone tripped, falling between the two of them to land in an ungainly heap on the ground.

"You ok?" Hannah asked, somewhat alarmed.

It was Ernie, and he was laughing. "Fine," he slurred out.

"You want to go inside? We can go talk in my room."

Neville hesitated, long enough that she was sure he was going to say no. "Yeah, all right."

She led the way back through the house and into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind them. A few quick charms and the noise just beyond the door quieted to a murmur.

"That's handy," he said approvingly.

"Necessary." She went and sat against the pillows at the head of her bed. "You going to come sit down?" she asked after a moment.

He took another drink and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, then he nodded and joined her on the bed, sitting as close to the edge of the bed as he could.

Hannah tried not to take it personally. "I'm glad you came out tonight, I feel like I haven't seen you in an age."

He shrugged. "It just seems a bit much, you know? The war was over, over a year ago. Isn't it time to settle down a bit?"

"I understand it. That was a really tough year, for all of us. And then, just as we finished burying our friends and loved ones, school started again and we had to go back into that and desperately try to forget what had happened at Hogwarts the year before." She gestured to the door. "This lets us be young again. This lets us pretend that we're still just kids, that we didn't have to grow up too fast."

"I hadn't really thought of it like that."

"No one likes to think of it like that. We just do it. It's easier to escape when you're not thinking about it."

His dark eyes swung over to look at her. "Don't think about it, just do it?"

She nodded.

He carefully set his drink down on the floor by the head of the bed and then, suddenly, he was over her, kissing her, his hands on her hips pulling her down the bed until her head met the pillow.

She was startled and it took her a moment for her mind to catch up, but her body was already responding; her arms twined about his neck and her lips moved eagerly under his as though she'd been waiting for this very moment.

* * *

Hannah was pulled from sleep in the morning by a brief knock on her door. She opened her eyes to see a still-drunk-looking Seamus unsteadily holding out an envelope. "Owl came for- Neville?" He peered at the wizard in her bed as though he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

"Just put it on the desk, please," she instructed him sleepily.

"Are those your knickers?" her housemate asked, squinting up at the top of the full-length mirror that hung on her wall.

"Bye, Seamus," Neville said pointedly.

The sandy-haired young man deposited the parchment and left, laughing to himself.

"Well," Neville said, going a bit pink as he looked up at the undergarments in question. "Want to get breakfast?"

"I'd love to," she replied, still hearing the laughter coming down the hall.


	2. Crookshanks and Basilisk

**Pairing: Crookshanks/Basilisk**

**Rating: K+  
**

**Summary: Crookshanks is on a secret mission to the Chamber of Secrets. 100% pure crack.  
**

**Crookshanks and the Chamber of Secrets**

It was a good thing no one ever asked Crookshanks about the Chamber of Secrets. He was there, of course, but then that was also a secret. It was part of his mission. If Harry Potter failed, he was tasked with making sure that the Chamber of Secrets never opened.

Well, he was a little late for that. He hadn't gotten to Hogwarts fast enough, he'd been out of the country on another mission. So the Chamber had opened, and that had been bad.

And then he got into the school. He had to spend some time trying to escape the advances of one Mrs Norris. She made it clear she wanted to have his kittens; she didn't take no for an answer and she always seemed to know where he was. It was a little creepy, to tell the truth, and he felt a little guilty at his relief when she was petrified. She was only the first, though, and then those other poor people, they had been petrified, too. Better petrified than dead- that's what he kept telling himself. They were lucky.

It took some doing to get down to the Chamber of Secrets. That little girl- well, she was hardly little- Millicent something. She'd decided that Crookshanks had come to the castle to be her special pet. She was always looking for him and picking him up to pet him. She was almost as bad as Mrs Norris. She was lucky that he'd taken a vow not to harm wizards and witches.

But at last he'd been able to talk to that ghost girl. Myrtle, the charming one in the toilets. And Crookshanks spoke Parseltongue, of course, that was why he'd been selected for the mission in the first place. Most Kneazles- and cats, actually- had the ability to speak Parseltongue, it's just another kind of hissing. But most of them didn't bother. Crookshanks, though, he was at the top of his field. He bothered. He spoke dog too, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. Except that one animagus- but that was another story.

At last he got into the Chamber of Secrets. He sat down to have a little chat with the basilisk. Unfortunately, basilisks were always rather stupid creatures.

_What are you doing?_ Crookshanks asked. He'd tucked himself away on a high ledge where the basilisk wouldn't be able to reach him. He knew better than to confront the creature in the open.

_Waiting._ They had a tendency to take things literally, too. No subtext at all, stupid snakes.

_What are you waiting for_? Patience. That was the only way to talk to him.

_Master_. Obviously.

_Who is your master?_

_The heir of Slytherin._

Crookshanks knew that there was only one man who referred to himself as the heir of Slytherin. The evil one, the one who'd been behind the war the last time. Crookshanks hadn't been alive then, but he'd heard the stories. Humans called him Voldemort, but the Kneazles called him He-Who-Never-Purrs. _What does he want?_

_Cleansing_. That was self-explanatory, given who they were talking about. He-Who-Never-Purrs didn't understand the value of Muggles. Kneazles did, that was why Crookshanks himself was only half-Kneazle. Too much emphasis on purity meant too much inbreeding, which tended to have rather disastrous results. For Kneazles it meant things like arthritis and hip dysplasia, for humans it meant something altogether different. Rumor had it that He-Who-Never-Purrs' own mother had been horribly inbred like that, and she was stupid and ugly and altogether unpleasant.

_Where is he?_

_There._

And then a little girl came into the room, holding that horribly evil book. A horcrux. It was too bad that no one had asked any of the Kneazles about horcruxes, they would have been able to stop the whole He-Who-Never-Purrs business before it got out of hand like it did. Crookshanks had a hard time forgiving Hermione for not taking him on the horcrux hunt- but that was another story as well.

The basilisk slithered away, back into hiding. Harry Potter had come in just then. Crookshanks watched and waited. He knew who Harry Potter was. He helped as much as he could, distracting the basilisk. He knew that it would fall to him if Harry Potter failed.

He didn't fail. He even destroyed the horcrux, which was rather nice of him. Crookshanks made his way back out- out of the Chamber, out of the castle, out of Scotland.

It was time for Crookshanks to retire. He would find a nice young witch who would give him love and cuddles and treats, and he could sleep on her feet at night and keep her warm. No more stupid basilisks, no more Mrs Norris, no more missions.

Or so he thought.


	3. Bellatrix and James

**Pairing: Bellatrix/James**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: They pretended they were strangers. M for language.**

**Strangers**

He didn't know her name. He knew who she was, of course, there was really only one family she could belong to, looking as she did. There was little doubt that she didn't know who he was, either. But they had never formally introduced themselves, and so they could pretend they were unfamiliar, just two strangers who'd happened to meet.

They'd met in a disreputable pub down Nocturne Alley. She'd said her name was Pollux, Polly, and he'd told her his name was Harry. He'd always liked the name Harry.

It wasn't too long after he'd finished school. He'd had a row with Lily, and Sirius had taken her side. It wasn't just a row, though, was it? It was a soul-numbing, heart-breaking altercation that had ended with her telling him that maybe he hadn't changed after all and he might want to seriously consider what he was doing with her.

He'd sat at a table in the corner of the dirty pub, nursing his beer and his pride. And Polly had walked in; beautiful, dark, and just a hint of danger. She was trouble, and James... James was looking for trouble.

They'd drank together until he was almost too drunk to stand. She'd taken him up to a room and they'd started kissing, and then touching, and then rolling together on the bed. He'd passed out before his trousers had come off, but when he woke up in the middle of the night, still drunk and somehow completely naked, he'd pulled her on top of him and they'd come together with a harried urgency. She'd left shortly after that and he fell back asleep.

He'd made up with Lily the next day, of course, but he couldn't get Polly out of his head. Maybe it was that she was his best mate's cousin, maybe it was that she was supposed to be evil and dangerous and she'd shown him nothing of that. No, he'd found her witty- maybe her humor tended to be a little cutting, but she was very intelligent. Fastidious too; she'd insisted on casting charms to thoroughly clean the room before they'd really had a chance to enjoy it.

And so they'd met again. And again. Once every week or two, at the same filthy pub, they'd share a drink and then they'd go up to the same room. They'd fuck, because she just didn't make love, and then they would talk. He didn't know what she got out of their clandestine meetings, but he didn't really care. The lie he told himself most often was that he was trying to get her to switch sides; maybe that's what she told herself, too.

They were sitting at the same dark table, he drinking his beer and her drinking something dark and red, though not wine, from the smell. "I'm getting married," he said finally. They hadn't spoken in some time and their meeting seemed a little more strained than it usually was.

She simply stared at him for a moment, her dark eyes as unreadable as always. "Are you?" she asked finally, although her tone clearly indicated that she didn't really care what the answer was.

"I'm going to have to stop seeing you."

That did catch her attention. "Why's that? I'm assuming this isn't a spontaneous wedding; that you've, in fact, been engaged for some time."

He looked away from her dark, piercing gaze. "It just wouldn't be right after I'm married."

"Don't see why not. I'm married."

He'd known that, just as much as he'd known who she was. "I wouldn't feel right."

"How very..." she trailed off, smirking as she regarded him. "Noble, _Harry_," she finished after a time.

"I'll miss this," he admitted, his hazel eyes meeting hers again.

"Do you mean it?" Her face registered some surprise, and then amusement. "I think you really do." She sat back in her chair, holding her glass up beside her face and swirling the liquid inside, just a little. "It had to end at some point, though, didn't it? You're... You. And I, of course, I'm very much me."

He shrugged. She was right, of course, he just didn't want to admit it to her.

"Well, darling, fancy a shag for the road?" She lifted her glass in mock salute. She never gave anything away, neither by her expression nor her tone, but this time... Was that just a flash of regret? Maybe, just for an instant? He'd never know, if he asked her she would just give him another smirk and likely some suitably biting comment.

They went up to their usual room and their bodies met frantically in the dark. And after, for the first time since they'd started meeting together, she let him hold her. She was very tall, taller than Lily, and it took some time to shift into a mutually comfortable position.

"I'm sure it'll be a great relief for you not to have to come up with any more excuses to spend a night away from your precious _flower_."

"And what about your husband?" he returned.

He felt, rather than saw, her shrug. "He doesn't care what I do, so long as I try to provide him with an heir every so often."

"That sounds very lonely."

Silence.

"I should go," he said, after a time, slipping from the bed and dressing himself in the dim light from the clear night sky in the window. Her silence remained until he opened the door and let himself out, and he thought he could hear her whisper, "Goodbye, James."


	4. Luna and Dean

**Pairing: Luna/Dean**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: When they were rescued by Dobby, everything changed.**

**Wallpaper**

Everything changed when Dobby Apparated them out of Malfoy Manor, to Shell Cottage. More than just the lack of dungeons and torture; everything changed for Luna.

The little seaside house was very full, and then it wasn't. Mr Ollivander left to go stay with Bill's Aunt Muriel; and then Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Griphook went off to London to try and break into Gringotts. And then there was just the four of them.

Luna was used to being alone. She certainly hadn't had too many friends until just very recently, and Dad was busy a lot of time with his newspaper. At school, too, she knew all sorts of places to go when she wanted to have some time to herself. But then she'd been kidnapped, and now that Dobby had rescued them, it sometimes seemed like she'd traded one prison for another. Granted, Shell Cottage smelled better and there was no chance of being dragged out of the cell for some time with one of the Death Eaters. But she was never really alone. Bill and Fleur were always there. They had stopped working at Gringotts because the whole family had to be in hiding.

And there was Dean. He seemed to have a knack for finding her. He filled his days with sketching and the housework that they both helped out with, but he wasn't used to being alone, and she was closest to him in age. He would come upon her without really seeming to seek her out, as though they just happened to be in the same space at the same time.

It was hard to have personal time in that place; they couldn't go too far outside the house. Eventually, though, she found a place, just down the cliff. There was a little niche that she could lower herself into, filled with nothing but the sound of the waves. She could cry there. She didn't have to be brave for anyone else anymore, and the rush of the tides drowned out her sobs. She was safe, she could let herself just be. She'd had to be brave for everyone else for so long, it had seamlessly become a part of who she was. It had started when Mum had died and even now... Fleur was worried about her family, Bill was worried about his family, Dean had seen things... And they all looked to her to provide a bright smile and a steady presence.

She climbed out of her little hiding spot one night, just as the sun was settling down low in the sky. She prepared to steal back to the house just as she usually did. There was something in her way, though. Someone, rather. Dean was sitting on the ground, staring at the edge of the cliff like he'd been waiting for her, a shadowed shape in the dim light.

He looked up at her as she walked close to him, then caught her hand and pulled her down. She struggled, just a bit, but he was still stronger than she was. She ended up in the cradle of his legs, held against his chest.

She sat stiffly, holding herself away from him as much as she could. But his hand was stroking soothingly through her hair, his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. He said nothing, just sat and stroked her hair.

She had thought she was done crying for the evening, but she wasn't. Fresh tears spilled out against her will. Gradually, she shifted towards him until she was clinging to him, her hands clasped tightly in the shirt Bill had given him and her face buried in his neck.

"Why were you hiding?" he asked quietly when she was done.

"Because I'm wallpaper."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, really consider it like he was taking her seriously. Even her friends didn't take her this seriously most of the time. "How are you wallpaper?" He didn't laugh, he didn't scoff, he didn't push her away.

"I'm always there at the side of the room, but no one notices me. I get covered up with paintings and the furniture certainly stands out more than I do, but at the end of the day, I'm the one holding the room together."

He nodded slowly. She hadn't expected that. "No one notices that the wallpaper is faded until one of the pictures on the wall gets moved."

Did he... Did he actually understand? No one really understood. She hadn't really spent a whole lot of time with him before they'd been locked up in the Malfoy's basement together. He and Ginny had dated, of course, and she'd been around him a little bit through that time. But the couple had spent most of their time either snogging or arguing, and that didn't leave a whole lot of time for him to socialize with her other friends. Especially the kinds of friends that were like wallpaper.

She'd noticed him the same way she noticed most of the people who floated along at the edge of her life. He was there. He was tall. He was a very talented artist, and there a graceful elegance in his hands, even when he wasn't creating his artwork.

"Don't hide anymore." He took her shoulders in those talented hands and pushed her gently away from him, far enough that he could look down into her face. His dark eyes flicked back and forth between hers. "Don't hide anymore, Luna," he repeated, and she nodded. He'd changed too, since he'd dated Ginny. There was a heaviness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He'd suffered in Malfoy Manor. He could see thestrals. He was older than...

"How old are you?"

"18. I turned 18 in February."

"I'm sorry," she told him, lifting up on small hand to place on his cheek. "I don't think anyone our age should be able to see them."

"See what?"

"Thestrals."

He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I think we'll all be able to see them before this is over."

She let out a long sigh. "I think you're right." It made her a little bit sad, that an entire generation would be able to see an animal so closely tied to death.

He looked down into her face for another moment, and then his face was lowering toward hers. She watched his eyes, almost hypnotized, and she was shocked when his lips brushed against hers. She'd never been kissed before, not like this.

"No," she protested, pulling away.

"What's wrong? Is it because of Ginny?"

She scooted back on her bum until there was about a meter between them. "You can't." She shook her head. "You can't do that, Dean."

"Why not?"

"Because if you do that, it means that you see me."

"I do see you, Luna." He had a patient expression on his face, and his eyes burned into hers. He did see her, he saw all of her. Even the faded and torn parts that she tried to keep covered up.

"You can't see me. If you see me, then I'm not wallpaper anymore." She shook her head almost desperately. She'd been doing it since she was nine, it was the only way she knew how to be.

He shifted towards her and pulled her to him again, his lips finding hers in the last lingering light of day. She let him kiss her that time, encouraged him with her arms around his neck. Night fell and it got too cold to continue outside. They started sharing a room that night, and the only notice that was taken was Fleur asking her if she was familiar with a contraceptive charm in the morning as they washed up after breakfast.

Everything changed. No one had ever really seen her before. Everything was going to change again, when they were able to leave Shell Cottage. When Dean held her in the middle of the night as they chased away each other's nightmares, she knew that she could never go back to being wallpaper. But where would that leave her?


	5. Harry and Petunia

**Characters: Harry, Petunia  
**

**Rating: Kplus  
**

**Summary: Harry hadn't seen his aunt in a good number of years, and it didn't go quite as he'd expected it to.  
**

**Family**

It was only a matter of time before Harry ran into his Aunt Petunia again. He was actually surprised that it had taken this long for her to 'just drop by' while he had the kids over to visit their Muggle cousins. Also surprising was the distinct lack of Uncle Vernon and his disapproving glower.

"Aunt Petunia," he greeted, somewhat stiffly. He was just on his way back from the loo, and was happening to pass by the front door on the way to the sitting room, when it had opened without notice.

She sniffed, her hands tightly clasped in front of her in the way that said that she wasn't really comfortable with what was going on. He'd seen that time and time again when he'd been growing up, but it wasn't until later that he'd been able to identify what it meant.

"What are you doing here?"

He ignored the question, and a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye made him turn his head just in time to catch his three-year-old daughter as she came running towards him. "Who's that, Daddy?" she asked with the guilelessness of young children.

The openness in her brown eyes made him hesitate for just a moment. "She's Uncle Duddy's mummy." He didn't make the family connection between his daughter and his aunt. He wouldn't, not unless the woman was able to prove she was capable of being a positive influence in his children's lives. He rather doubted it, given that James was seven, and had gone the entirety of his young life without so much as a peep from his great-aunt. "Run along, Lily, I'll come in just a moment."

She tightened her small arms around his neck for a moment, but allowed him to put her down, and then she was skipping back toward the sitting room where her brothers were playing with their cousins.

He took another look at the stern face of his aunt and made to follow his daughter, but he was stopped by another disapproving sniff. "Lily? After my sister?"

"After my mum; it's tradition in _my_ world to name your children after their ancestors." He couldn't help the emphasis. He knew how much his aunt had desperately wanted to be a part of the shining wizarding world when she was a child. He couldn't help the twinge of guilt at her very visible wince, either. She wasn't as hard as she'd been when he was a small boy. The idea unsettled him a little.

He shook his head. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my children. I'll let Dudley know you're here."

"Why are you here?" The question stopped him in his tracks. "I know you and my son aren't close." She was choosing to omit their relationship as well, that didn't really surprise him.

"We get on. Family is important, Petunia, they're who help you get through the dark times." Another sniff, but she didn't seem to have an answer for that. "I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned it before."

"He may have." Which meant that he very likely had done so, and she'd just chosen to ignore it.

Harry made to leave again, but again she stopped him. "Why haven't you told them about us?"

"Which part, exactly? The part where you made me live in the cupboard under the stairs? Or the part where I didn't get to eat properly all the time? Or the part where you lied to my face for years about what happened to my parents? Which do you think is appropriate to tell young children?" His voice remained level, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers.

Until she looked away. "Tell Dudley I've stepped outside. I just need some air."

The door opened and closed, admitting her back out into the world.

Dudley came through to the foyer at the sound. "Who was that?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Your mum dropped by. Said she'd wait outside for you."

"Right." His cousin hesitated, then motioned with his head back to the sitting room. "I'll be back in just a moment, yeah?"

"Of course."

Ginny was waiting for him, sitting beside Dudley's wife Mary. "What's wrong?" she asked when she noticed the look on his face.

He shook his head. He would have to answer later. "Mary, Dudley just stepped outside to talk to Petunia for a moment, he said he'll be right back."

Mary frowned. "It might be about his father; Vernon's been doing rather poorly lately. Would you mind..."

"No, you go on," Ginny offered, and the other woman rushed out of the room.

Harry felt absolutely nothing at the news that his uncle was ill. He took his seat beside his wife and wrapped his arm around her, his eyes on the children playing in front of them.

"Are you going to want to see him?" she asked.

"I think that would be a little inappropriate."

She nodded, like she'd known what the answer was going to be before she asked it. She was a Weasley, though, and her understanding of what family was meant that she didn't quite understand the nature of the relationship- or lack there of- that he had with his aunt and uncle. Even old Aunt Muriel, who was a bitter, conniving old bat, was still treated as a member of the family.

Dudley and Mary came back in just a moment later, and from their expressions, Harry knew that the news had not been good. He stood up immediately and went over to them. "We'll take the kids for a bit if you need some time."

Mary nodded, but Dudley looked a question at him. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. We're family."

"Thanks, mate." They had an awkward handshake and then Harry distracted his two nephews with talk of ice cream, while Dudley and Mary gathered their own things together to go out.

His cousin pressed a spare key into his hand. "If you get back before we do..."

Ginny appeared at Harry's side, Lily nestled up on her hip. "Do you need us to take them overnight?"

The protest sprang instantly to Mary's lips. "Oh, we couldn't..."

"Nonsense," she told them firmly, with a pleasant smile on her face. It was the same expression and tone she used when she was managing her older brothers. "We'll have them back tomorrow after breakfast."

It was much later, when all five children were tucked into bed and fast asleep, that Harry pulled Ginny against him. "Thank you," he told her, burying his nose in her hair.

"You're welcome." He could hear the smile in her voice. After a moment, she followed up with, "What for?"

"For showing me what it means to have a family."

She didn't respond, she just held him tighter.


	6. Harry and Daphne

**Pairing: Harry/Daphne**

**Rating: Kplus**

**Summary: Yet another wedding, and Harry feels like the last single person in the world.  
**

**Unexpected Reunion**

Majority of England's wizarding population had been shocked the day that the Daily Prophet had announced the engagement of Ronald Weasley and Pansy Parkinson. They were rarely seen together in public, and when they were it seemed that their affection towards each other didn't extend beyond friendship.

Those closer to them, however, knew the truth- a combination of Pansy simply being _proper_, and deploring what she termed "vulgar displays of public lewdness," and of Ron's wish to not be badgered by people who were still fans of the so-called Golden Trio, who would no doubt owl him and tell him that his future wife was nothing more than a fame-seeking harpy, despite evidence to the contrary.

The gossips were going to have an absolute fit when they realized that the couple who had just been outed as "engaged" were actually getting married the very weekend after the paper had reported its scandalous news.

This cheered Harry a little as he sat at a table at the lavish reception, beginning to drum his fingers absently on the table. This wasn't the first wedding in their circle of friends, not by a long shot. This was, however, the first such event where he felt painfully single, and equally as bored. Everyone else had paired up- Neville and Luna were married, Ginny was engaged, even Hermione was involved in a serious relationship. They were all dancing and cuddling with their significant others, caught up in the romance that fairly explodes from a wedding. He didn't begrudge them their happiness, far from it. He just wished there was someone else to hold a conversation with that wouldn't get interrupted by arguments over who loved who more.

Feeling restless, he stood up. Maybe some fresh air would help. He walked towards one of the sets of open doors that led out onto airy balconies. The doors were all-but-blocked by a large spray of flowers that looked like it was trying to pass for a tree, but it meant that the gentle breeze moving through rustled the greenery enough to give a secluded feel. It wasn't a whole lot cooler outside- why did weddings always have to happen in the summer?- but at least he wasn't in danger of being trod upon by rogue dancers too busy whispering in each others' ears to watch where they were going.

"I think I'm in hell," someone murmured. A soft voice, definitely female.

He stepped in front of the ostentatiously large display of tulips and gardenias- and the only reason he knew what they were was that the flower arrangement discussions had gone on loudly and at great length while he'd been trying to sleep in the next room- to see who was seeking refuge on his balcony. "You left hell back there, actually; I think this is real life, and we're the only sane people left."

She was gorgeous. Thick dark hair piled up on her head, a strapless purple dress that clung in all the right places. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd offended her. And then she laughed.

It was the laugh that did it, that telltale slightly husky sound. "Daphne Greengrass?" She'd definitely grown up since they'd left school. He remembered that laugh from shared Care of Magical Creatures classes, often aimed directly at him. People change, he reminded himself. After all, his best mate had married Pansy Parkinson just a couple of hours ago.

"What's that, Potter, couldn't find a date?" The flash of white teeth when she smiled said she was teasing in a friendly way rather than being malicious.

"Er, not exactly."

"If I had a knut for every time I heard, 'I have this friend, you'll love him...'" She shook her head and saluted him with her champagne flute before taking a drink.

"Right. Exactly." The Weasley-Prewett family had a whole host of redheaded cousins that Mrs Weasley was more than happy to push in his general direction, and had done so at every possibly opportunity when it became clear that he and Ginny weren't going to reconcile. "I said I had a date and she had to cancel at the last minute."

"I'll have to remember that next time. Mine is currently... oh!" She stepped neatly in front of him, her free hand on his shoulder as she peered covertly around his arm. "Thinks I'm in the loo. Of course, I told him I was going there about fifteen minutes ago."

"You could go into the flowers just there. Of course, you might never come out again." It was easier to see into the room from the balcony than the other way around, but he found he didn't really mind her in his personal space.

That laugh again as she eyed up the white-petaled monstrosity. It was actually a nice sound when it wasn't aimed at him. "I'd risk it. This one's like a dog, all slobbering and trying to climb into my lap. I keep expecting him to try and mount my leg under the table."

It took him a moment to realize that he had, in fact, heard her correctly, and he stared at her silently, completely unable to come up with a suitable reply.

"Your eyes look about ready to pop out of your head." She smirked at him, that was a familiar look on her face. "It's all the champagne I'm trying to make this 'date' bearable with. I just wish they were serving something stronger."

"Right." He'd been wishing that same thing not five minutes ago. But apparently liquor at an afternoon wedding just wasn't _proper._

She swirled the translucent liquid in the glass. "Pansy refuses to go drinking with me, you know. Probably why I'm not in the wedding party, too; she's afraid of what I might say during the toast, like about that time in fifth year when she..." She trailed off, smirking, and removed her hand from his arm to lean back against the railing, still shooting the occasional look back inside. "So what has the great Chosen One been doing since he saved the world?"

He winced at the name. He hated being called that, but somehow... Somehow he didn't mind it so much when it came from her. She was teasing him like they were friends. "I'm an Auror."

Her eyes moved over him, and then she nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised. I expect you're good at it."

"A bit."

"So modest." She was smiling again. She had a pretty smile, her eyes brightened with the expression.

"What about you?"

"This and that. Trying to evade the matchmaking efforts of everyone I know." She took another drink and seemed to be evaluating him for a moment. "I design clothing." It came across almost a challenge, her eyebrow raised again.

"That's brilliant. I've never met anyone who does that. You like it?"

"When I'm not arguing with my suppliers. Honestly, you'd think someone able to negotiate the price on a bolt of dragonhide down about forty percent would be able to talk their way out of this mess." As if on cue, her eyes widened a little and she stepped close to him. "Thanks, Harry. You make an excellent screen. Someone needs to get that one a collar and chain him to the table." That was the first time he remembered her ever calling him Harry.

He looked down at her for a moment. This close, he could smell her perfume. Vanilla, mixed with something a little spicy. "Listen, do you want to get a drink sometime?"

"How about now?" At his hesitation, she smirked again. "Trust me, no one is going to miss us."

He debated it for a moment. He'd already done the best man's toast, now he was just... waiting. A glance over his shoulder showed him that Ron was too wrapped up in his new bride to notice anything, even the disappearance of his best mate. "Yeah, all right."

She took one last drink and set the champagne flute down. "You have somewhere in mind?"

He thought for a moment. Where could he take her? They were both dressed up, and it was the middle of the afternoon. "You mind going Muggle?"

"As long as the next words out of your mouth aren't, 'I have this friend,' we could go to the middle of the desert and I wouldn't care."

He settled his hand on the curve of her waist, and her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. "Ready?"

"Since I got here."

He Disapparated them with a pop.

**A/N: The companion piece by the fabulous Anka7995 can be found on her profile, titled "Balcony Encounter"  
**


	7. Fred and Hermione

**Pairing: Fred and Hermione, friendship!**

**Rating: Kplus**

**Summary: Hermione is looking to finally conquer her fear of flying. Can a mischievous Weasley twin help?**

**Not So Bad**

"You're absolutely sure you want to do this?" He looked over at her with a grin on his face, like he knew exactly what she wanted to say.

"Do I have a choice?" she countered, staring hard at the broom. Flying on a broom was the one thing from the wizarding world that she hadn't really taken to. Why fly when you could Apparate everywhere? Or use Portkeys, or the floo network...

She hated the feeling of being that high off the ground. She hated flying the Muggle way too, in an aeroplane, and that seemed somehow safer than relying on one skinny stick as the only thing keeping her from falling out of the sky.

"You always have a choice. I don't think anyone could make Hermione Granger do anything she didn't want to."

She rolled her eyes in response to his good-natured teasing. "Let's just do this." Despite the teasing, there was a reason she'd gone to Fred with her request to help her get a little more comfortable flying on a broom. He might tease her in a friendly way, but he wouldn't mock her in a cruel way, either for her woeful inadequacy on a broom, or for her desire to learn.

"Right. So you know the stand to the left of the broom and say _up_, right?" At her nod, he continued. "This is usually the first bit of wordless magic most witches and wizards know. Can you do it silently?" She nodded again, and he grinned. "See? You're already ahead of the second years!"

She couldn't help but smile at him. "Thanks a lot."

"Honestly, Hermione, I don't know why you're here. You're brilliant. You know _how_ to do it, the practical theory parts, and I can't help you not be afraid of heights. If flying on dragons and thestrals and hippogriffs didn't do it, I don't really stand that much more of a chance, do I?"

She sighed. "It's just not fun. Every time I've been up in the air- dragon, thestral, hippogriff, even broom- I was fleeing for my life, or for someone else's. If you can't enjoy it, there's no incentive to stop being scared of it."

"Oh, I'm here for my ability to make things fun rather than my spectacular flying skills."

She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms in front of her. "If I just wanted spectacular flying skills, I'd see Harry."

His hand flew to his heart, and he staggered a couple of steps to the side. "I'm wounded, Hermione. Wounded! I'll have you know, I was called a human Bludger!"

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she mused, her expression serious. When his eyes turned questioning, she said, "You'll come flying at me and knock me out of the air. I don't even have a bat."

He chuckled. "Dodging flying Weasleys is tomorrow's lesson." He folded his arms as well, lifting one hand to tap a finger thoughtfully against his lips. "Fun. Well, other than dodging flying Weasleys, I don't know what to do to make this fun... You're sure about this?" he asked again.

"Yes. I'm sure." She tried not to look too skeptical.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Hermione landed on the ground and she was actually smiling. She still looked just a little pale, and her hands were a little numb from clutching the broom so tightly, but she had to admit that the whole experience hadn't been horrible.

Fred landed easily beside her. "Is that... An actual smile?" He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and fell to his knees in a fit of dramatics. "What is the world coming to!"

She shoved his shoulder, pushing him off balance. "It wasn't so bad after all."

He stood up, briskly brushing off his knees. "I've never heard a more ringing endorsement. You're going to make me blush!"

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Thanks, Fred. I owe you."

"Too right. I'll take your first-born, the royalties to the book you probably have brewing somewhere under all that hair, or I'll let you buy a round the next time we're at the pub." He reached over and ruffled her hair until she pushed him away again.

"I could go for a drink now..." she suggested.

"Me, too. Alas, you're not the only lovely witch demanding my attention today."

"Date?"

He snorted. "Hardly. Mum wants me to help her clean out Bill and Charlie's old room. And by help, I mean she's going to feed me and I'm going to do it for her. Apparently my dearest oldest brother and his lovely wife are finally getting around to taking that honeymoon they couldn't while Death Eaters were roaming the countryside. Mum and Dad volunteered to watch the baby."

She considered him for a moment, one hand on her hip, the other holding her broom. "Want a hand?"

"I wouldn't say no. It's probably going to be hot up there, though," he cautioned.

"Good thing someone got an O on their Charms N.E.W.T. then, isn't it?"

"I guess sometimes it pays to be friendly with a know-it-all." He grinned when she gave him another shove. "To warn you, there are probably some things still hidden up there that Mum doesn't exactly want to see."

"Fred, I spent the better part of a year with two boys in a tent. I think I'll manage."

"An excellent point." He offered her his arm with a grand gesture. "Shall we?"


End file.
